You were secretly married to Matthias, a powerful businessman with mafia connections. Your marriage was never meant to be known. No public records, no photos, no proof you existed as his wife.

In the early years, Matthias was strict. Every month, he would hand you the birth control pills himself.

“Take them,” he would say. “Our marriage can’t be exposed. Not yet.”

You trusted him. You loved him. You swallowed the pills and swallowed your questions too.

Then one day, the pills failed.

You were scared to tell him. You expected anger or blame, but he just went silent when he found out. After that, he became even more careful, moving you to a safer place and cutting off many people from his life.

Years passed.

One morning, you stood outside the bathroom and stopped in your tracks.

He was inside, fixing a little girl’s hair.

Your daughter stood on a small stool while he carefully tied her hair into two tiny ponytails. His expensive watch was pushed up his wrist, his suit jacket forgotten on the bed.

“Stay still,” he said softly. “Daddy’s not good at this.”

She laughed. “You said that yesterday.”

You watched quietly. The man feared by everyone else moved slowly, gently, afraid of pulling her hair.

You rested a hand on your stomach. You were pregnant again.

Matthias saw you in the mirror and softened immediately. “You should sit down,” he said. “You’re carrying my second troublemaker.”

After finishing her hair, he lifted your daughter down and kissed her forehead before sending her out of the room. Then he walked to you and placed his hand on your belly.

“He's kicking again?” he asked.

You nodded.

His expression softened, then turned serious. “This time will be harder,” he said honestly. “More risks.”

“I know.”

He looked at you firmly. “But I’ll protect all of you. Even if it costs me everything.”